


paracetamol

by duotheist (metrical)



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 01:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13448124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metrical/pseuds/duotheist
Summary: He realizes he’s never felt his hands without the bandages, the only skin-to-skin contact being his calloused fingers, contrasting intriguingly with his soft palms.





	paracetamol

The soft pattern of the rain against the window is repetitive, almost mesmerizing, making Biker feel drowsy, yet not enough to sleep. He lets his gaze drift to the nightstand, where bottles of cheap vodka are placed carelessly on, along with the spilled contents of a prescription pill bottle.

There are five people in the bedroom; three half-naked women, Biker, and then Jacket. The only one still awake is Biker, staring up at the ceiling cast in wavy blues reflected from the aquarium in the corner of his room. A cigarette is still burning in the ash tray by his bed. He watches the smoke come up, the smoke blue, his eyes tricked by the lighting. 

Biker sits up to move from the bed, only to notice that he is trapped in place by Jacket’s arm around his waist and one  
of the prostitutes clung to his calf. He grunts, smoothing a bit of blue hair bangs out of his face and leans back at his elbows, staring at the room, lighted in purples and blues and pinks.

And then Jacket stirs. The blue-haired man stiffens, realizing he probably woke him up by moving. The blonde opens his eyes and looks up at him, eyes half-lidded from the drowsiness of just waking up. 

He sits up beside Biker, the lighting of the fish tank reaching him with shades of purple and blue, contouring his skin and scars perfectly, tracing his facial features and muscles. The skin around his mouth contorts in the attempt to awkwardly smile.

Biker loves everything about him.

Jacket squirms close to him and presses his face into the other man’s exposed neck, kissing gently. He reaches and grabs his hand, squeezing it.

Biker realizes he’s never felt his hands without the bandages, the only skin-to-skin contact being his calloused fingers, contrasting intriguingly with his soft palms. He hums quietly, leaning into the kiss and holding Jacket’s hand close.

They lay back down, bodies pressed close together, arms draped around each other, their foreheads pressed together.

It doesn’t take long to fall asleep from there.


End file.
